An Eye for an Eye
by the morrighan
Summary: This is a sequel to my Old West Vegas story Vegas Los Rancho Vegas. This is the part three of three. Thanks for reading!
1. Chapter 1

An Eye for an Eye

**Georgia. September 1863.**

John Sheppard downed the whisky in one harsh swallow. He coughed, biting back the reflex to gag on the bitter alcoholic sting of the drink. He couldn't imagine imbibing this liquid except in extreme moments, like this one. He raised his bleary eyes to view his comrades. All were downtrodden, weary and young, like him. Men in their twenties, just boys really, but instead of plowshares they were carrying firearms and rifles and were at war.

They lurked like ghosts, almost invisible in their blue uniforms amid the gloom of the woodlands that surrounded them. Smoke from burning underbrush caused eyes to water and throats to scratch. A mist was weaving in and out of the trees, dampening all sounds, even the lone cracking of shotguns. The Union army had just suffered a tactical loss and was on the retreat from the advancing Confederates. Both sides had suffered tremendous losses of life.

The casualties had numbered into the thousands.

John had never seen so much carnage. He had been literally wading in blood and broken bodies along the trails, following orders to march a retreat to safer territory. Weariness clung to him like a dead weight on his shoulders. His throat was raw from the shouting. His hands were sore from the constant use of his weapons. His feet were sore from the hours of trekking through unfamiliar and dangerous territory.

A noise made him whirl, rising to his feet, gun at the ready. A large figure resolved itself into a burly man clad in a tattered blue uniform. "River of Death," Ronon Dex coughed as he sat on the fallen tree trunk John had been occupying.

"What?"

"River of Death. That's what Chickamagu means." Ronon took a long drink from the canteen at his side. "Earned that epithet today, didn't it?" He scratched at his shorn head, missing his longer hair. Army regulations dictated everything from appearance to weaponry.

"Yeah." John was about to resume his seat but he saw motion. Men were being marshaled to keep on the move through the twilight of mist and darkness. The flash of bayonets was like silver gleams between the trees, like stars flitting along the blackness. "We gotta go now."

"No."

"No?" John eyed his friend.

Ronon shrugged. "This ain't my fight. It ain't yours either, John. We need to quit this and go."

"Go where?"

"Go West. Away from this madness."

"We can't. Deserters get shot, and I am not a deserter. Let's go, Ronon."

"Fuck this. I've had enough." Ronon's brown eyes filled with tears but he stubbornly blinked them away, and John remembered that although tall and large his friend was five years younger. The war was aging them all, however, and shredding any innocence they had left.

John licked his lips and looked around. "We gotta go," he repeated quietly, but part of him longed to escape this madness and go out West. He longed to be free of his father's domineering vehemence and his older brother's smug contempt.

"What about them?" Ronon gestured behind him, down the ridge. No more words were needed. John knew exactly whom the other man meant.

"We leave them."

"We leave them? We leave them to die out there, like that? Unburied and—"

"Orders. Let's go, Dex!" John snapped, grabbing the other man's arm and hauling him to his feet. He snatched the flask of whiskey and stashed it into the pocket of his blue overcoat. John hated leaving anyone behind, but orders were orders and the survivors were on the retreat. He gestured and the two men trudged through the gloom of the forest night. "When we reach Chattanooga we can rest a spell."

Ronon snorted. He knew his friend had a sweetheart in Chattanooga, some girl he had just met and Ronon found the whole situation ridiculous, considering they were at war, but he humored his friend and encouraged him. It was a bright spot in an otherwise dark vista. "Is that the only reason you wanna go there?"

John felt a blush on his face and was glad the darkness hid it. "Of course. We." A branch snapped and John stopped talking. He shouted just as bullets lit out of the darkness, pinging off trees and into the men. "Ambush!" he needlessly yelled, hunkering down and returning fire towards shapes in the gloom.

Ronon fell beside him, blood racing from his arm. "Git 'em!" he snarled, rolling onto his stomach and firing a pistol.

The cacophony of rifles and the stench of smoke filled the air. Shouts could be heard as well as a chilling noise known as the Rebel Yell. It sounded like some crazed banshee and put many superstitious men to flight. The ululation echoed eerily along the foggy hills.

John was not a superstitious man, although he wore a small cross round his neck. He aimed and fired, fired until the shouts and screams were now resounding from the attackers. He quickly hauled Ronon to his feet. "We gotta move now!"

"You ain't gonna leave me?"

"Fuck no. Now let's go!" The sound of a bugle echoed through the woods.

"You're disobeying orders."

"Don't care."

"Sheppard!" A man emerged from the mist. He was riding a horse and loomed over the younger men. Unlike them his uniform was spotless. Even the gold buttons shone upon it. He wielded a saber and used to it emphasize his words. "We're marching to Chattanooga. Form up on the right flank and cover the retreat. Leave him."

"Sir? He can come with me."

"I said to leave him, soldier. Are you disobeying an order from your superior?" Even the man's impressive mustache quivered with indignation.

"Told ya," Ronon muttered darkly. "Go on. This is your war, not mine."

"No. He's only got a flesh wound and can fight as well as—" A glove across the face cut off John's argument. Anger flared and he raised his gun, but Ronon lowered it for him.

"If the half-breed can keep up, fine. Otherwise leave him. Now get to your position, boy! That's an order. Your daddy may have bought you that captain's star but you are still a junior officer. Do I need to strike you again? And find a horse, for God's sake! You are a disgrace to that uniform you wear!"

John glowered. His green eyes were hard as diamonds. He glanced at Ronon who nodded. John touched the brim of his cap, seemingly cowed. The officer nodded and turned his horse to ride away from the pair, confident he would be obeyed.

"Go on. Find your horse," Ronon stated.

John shrugged. "Sorry. We can meet up in Chatta—"

"No. I'm done here. Give that pretty gal a kiss from me, would ya?"

As John stammered in embarrassment Ronon grinned and headed into the depths of the woods. "Ronon? Dex, wait! Dex!" John called, knowing he should stop his friend before his absence was discovered. John debated. He knew Ronon well enough that once his mind was made up that was that. John could hardly blame his friend as he harbored similar sentiments.

But John couldn't negate his duty. It had less to do with his prominent father and more to do with his own personal sense of pride and honor.

With a sigh he looked round, choosing a direction and sprinted into the woods towards the right flank.


	2. Chapter 2

An Eye for an Eye2

**The Barrens. February 1886.**

John stood in the middle of the street. He was very still, as still as a statue as his gaze raked over the dilapidated ruins of the buildings that once compromised a boom town. It had gone bust and now was only a home to coyotes and owls and ghosts. A wind was whining, scattering the top layer of newly fallen snow to spray the air with white gauze. It was cold, very cold as the sun struggled to climb up over the tenebrous hills and past the heavy clouds.

Rays of gold and pink faintly lit the sky but still the Barrens were mostly cast in shadows and gloom. Out of the corner of his eye John saw motion but he didn't move. He didn't stir except for the smallest motion of his hand on the rifle slung over his shoulder.

He licked his lips. So far only silence had greeted his demands. His nemesis was hiding, and somewhere amid the ruins Moira was being held against her will.

Deciding he boldly strode across the street. His black duster flew to either side of him, flapping like a crow's wings against the snow. He entered a building and paused.

Moira was near the window, tied to a chair and gagged. Her wrists were bound together in front of her. She was a mess, hair straggling out of her bun and bruises peppering her face in shades of blue and purple. Her brown eyes widened and she tried to speak but the gag muffled her.

"Moira." Her name escaped his lips in a gruff growl. He strode to her, forgetting caution, forgetting everything. He moved to his knees in front of her, setting down his rife. He drew his knife from the sheath at his boot. "Hold on, sweetheart. I'll get you outta here, I promise."

Deftly he used the knife, cutting the rope at her waist and carefully cutting the ropes around her wrists. He frowned, seeing the bruising on her skin, the bloody marks where the rope had bit into her tender flesh. He set down the knife and reached round to loosen the gag. He slipped it gently from her mouth.

Moira Sumner had been staring at him, shocked and relieved and alarmed all at once. He appeared weary. He was dirty and unshaven and a series of scratches lined one cheek. His green eyes were full of emotion until anger predominated. There was something else though, an almost feverish intensity in his gaze and she wondered if he was ill.

"Are you hurt? Did he hurt you?"

"John, John, you have to get out of here now!" she insisted, voice becoming stronger as she worked saliva into her mouth and grimaced at the taste of the gag. "He set a trap for you and he wants to kill you! Kolya wants to kill you! You have to get out of here now so go, go! John, you have to get out of—"

John kissed her suddenly, cutting off her words with the soft pressure of his lips. His mouth devoured hers, tongue darting as the kiss deepened, deepened and Moira's hands grasped his arms tightly.

She tasted weary, desperate and John could feel every nuance of emotion in her. He drank it all in as his mouth took hers, as his lips sought and comforted and titillated all at once. She was soft and yielding and she made a small sound deep in her throat that made him both protective and aroused. Mostly he was relieved she was alive and relatively unhurt.

"_When Johnny comes marching home again, hurrah, hurrah. When Johnny comes marching home again, hurrah, hurrah,_" sang an off-key, deep voice full of contempt.

Moira froze. Her grasp tightened on John's arms.

John drew back from the kiss, berating himself but at the same time quickly plotting. Moira's brown eyes grew wide in surprise and emotion at the passion of the long, deep kiss. She could still feel the pressure of his lips on hers. She could still feel the abrasive scratching of his scruff along her cheek and it made a shiver steal along her body.

"Just like the last time, eh, Sheppard? You won't be the hero here either. Let me see your hands, slowly now." The sound of a rifle being readied added incentive.

John's gaze locked with Moira's. He slowly drew back from her. He slowly moved his arms to his sides and raised them, bending his elbows and holding up his empty hands for Acastus Kolya to see.

"On your feet now, Sheppard. Nice and slow or I will shoot her."

John slowly moved. His knee brushed the knife, sliding it to Moira's feet. He stood, arms still raised, hands open. He could feel the stare of Acastus boring into his back. He could feel the hatred. It was almost palpable; a heaviness in the air and along his back and bare nape of the neck. He could feel the muzzle of the rifle although it wasn't touching him.

John glanced at the knife near Moira's feet, indicating it with a raised brow. He glanced at his rifle that was just out of reach. He met Moira's gaze and saw the fear, not for herself but for him. He saw the concern and the worry and it was all for him too. He felt oddly calm.

"Turn to me, slowly. Any sudden moves and I will shoot both you and her." Acastus felt a surge of triumph. At last, at long last he had Sheppard right where he wanted him. After years he had finally tracked down this most elusive enemy and now the lawman was at his mercy. Acastus allowed himself a moment of arrogant assurance and he smiled.

John tore his gaze from Moira and slowly turned round to face his nemesis. His boots were silent on the warped wooden floor. He kept his arms raised, hands up and open as he met the sneer of Moira's captor. John's own face was neutral; his expression holding no surprise or disdain or anxiety. A simmering anger danced in his green eyes, however.

Acastus nodded. He kept his rifle aimed at the other man's heart. John stood directly in front of Moira but it really didn't matter. The woman wasn't necessary any longer. "So…"

John waited, but that was all that Acastus said. John was weighing the options. He felt the reassuring weight of his pistol at his hip. He knew he could draw it quickly, but it would it be quick enough?

It hadn't been quick enough the last time.

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"Are you sure we are going the right way?" Rodney McKay was uncomfortable. He was up far too early for any civilized being. He had barely had enough food to even count as breakfast. Although wrapped in a heavy coat and scarf and a hat the cold was still slicing along his body and freezing his exposed skin. The horse he rode was equally grumpy, snorting and sidestepping through the snow and making the journey more like a carnival ride than a quick trot.

Still, Rodney had insisted on leading the charge to find John and to aid him, and thus he would.

Ronon grunted and shook his head, not bothering to dignify the ridiculous question with an answer. He put spurs to his horse and galloped ahead of the fancy man. He left a trail of blowing snow in his wake.

"Wait, wait! Oh bother!" Rodney sighed and urged his horse to keep pace with the other one.

Ronon waited until the scientist had caught up with him and the horses were riding side by side, trampling the snow. "We go east and hit the Barrens, but we gotta go round and set an ambush."

"Okay. Do you know this, this Kolya fellow?"

"Nah. Only heard of him during the War. He rode with Quantrill's Raiders before. Gave Sheppard some kind of grief and tried to capture him. That's all I know."

"Wow." Rodney blinked, alarmed at the information. "We cannot allow this man to harm Mrs. Sumner in any way, or to injure Mr. Sheppard. Do you have a plan?"

"No."

"No? No? What do you mean no?"

Ronon snorted and glanced at the scientist. "I'll have one once we git there. Now keep up and stop talking!"

Rodney swore and put spurs to his horse, galloping after the tracker.


	3. Chapter 3

An Eye for an Eye3

**Chattanooga. September 1863.**

"Sheppard! Sheppard, wait a moment!"

John scowled, turning at the summons. The troops had made it to the relative safety of Chattanooga and were grabbing a brief respite before the morrow. There was still a battle to be won; still a war to wage but for a few hours the men could relax. John, however, had no time to relax and joke with the rest. He had an assignation in mind and he did not want to be late.

He had replaced his blue uniform for some nondescript clothing, unremarkable and plain. He kept his pistol on him, however.

"What is it, Mitchell?"

"The colonel wants to see you. He's got a new offensive and is hand-picking a few men to go with him. This way." The soft drawl in the other man's voice would have drawn suspicion except for his blue uniform.

John sighed and followed the other man through the labyrinthine hallways of the hotel the Union had sequestered. The sounds of relative merriment could be heard from several rooms; laughter and the clinking of glasses. A few fiddles were playing raucous melodies. The aroma of food was a tempting wave of venison and stew and partridge.

The two men entered a quiet room at the end of the hallway. Both stood at attention as a tall figure had their back to him. The man turned, eyed them. "At ease. Sheppard, Mitchell, you will be leaving at daybreak with me. We are going to Horseshoe Ridge and setting up an ambush line. I need you two as you are the best sharpshooters I've got."

"Yes, Colonel O'Neill," Cameron Mitchell agreed at once.

"We are covering the retreat, if necessary, sir?" John asked.

The colonel's gaze shot to the other man, blue eyes assessing. "Yes, Sheppard. Depending upon which way the battle falls we need that way to remain clear, at all costs. We set out at first light. In either event we shall not relinquish Chattanooga. Dismissed." John and Cameron nodded, saluting and moving to leave when Jack O'Neill added, "Oh, and boys? No leaving the precincts of the town under any circumstances. Is that understood?"

John and Cameron exchanged a glance. "Yes, sir," they said at the same time.

Jack eyed them a moment, clearly not convinced. "Dismissed. And if you are not here at daybreak I will personally tan your hides!"

John and Cameron nodded and exited. "John, wait! You can't sneak out now! I mean you heard the colonel!"

John shrugged. "I know, but I won't be long. And she's, she's expecting me."

Cameron shook his head. "They aren't going to look the other way much longer, you know."

"I know. I'll be back before dawn, I promise."

John stealthily exited the building. The night was warm, windless. A full moon was obscured by clouds and shone like a halo around them. The streets were mostly deserted. Soldiers came and went on a casual patrol. Most citizens remained indoors, out of harm's way.

John skirted round the patrols, using the back alleys and soon made his way out of the center of the city. He kept to the shadows and made his way to a motley array of buildings. He pulled up the collar of his coat and entered a modest but stylish dwelling on the edge of town. He curtly nodded to the butler as he passed and made his way up the stairs.

Stepping into a fashionable room he coughed slightly. A woman turned. The sound of her petticoats was a vibrant rustle on the air. She was beautiful. Auburn ringlets framed a lovely face. Her blue eyes widened and she held out her arm and hand, coquettish and charming all at once. "Why I do declare if it's not my handsome beau at last?" she teased in a Southern accent.

John smiled and stepped to her, doffing his cap. "Miss Carlisle, it is a pleasure to see you." He took her hand and lightly planted a kiss on it. "What do you fancy, Nancy?" he teased with a glint in his green eyes.

Nancy laughed and withdrew her hand. She took his arm and drew him to a pair of chairs. "I was hoping you would be able to steal away, John! When I heard the Yankees had retreated back here I hoped you were among them! My father said the battle was a, a rout?"

"It was, in a way, but it was…terrible." Shadows crossed John's face but he banished them as the pair sat down. "I can't stay long, I'm afraid, but I had to see you."

"Why can't you stay? You're leaving tomorrow?"

"Yes, on special orders."

"What orders? You aren't riding out with the rest?"

"No. You know I can't say more, Nancy," he chastised. He took her hands into his. "Let's just enjoy this time we have, all right?" He leaned close to kiss her but she drew back, frowning at him.

"How can I when I don't know where you are going or when? Tell me, John, please! I worry so about you! What special orders do you have that would take you from me? Are the generals splitting your forces now?"

John felt a wave of suspicion but he ignored it. He leaned close again and kissed her, drawn by those ruby red lips that pouted so prettily.

"No, John!" She stood, turning away from him, bare shoulders shaking. "You must at least tell me where you will be so my mind can be at rest."

John stepped to her. He touched her shoulders. "You know I can't do that, Nancy." She turned to him, tears in her blue eyes, chest heaving and his gaze was momentarily drawn there.

"If you loved me you would tell me!" she insisted.

He met her gaze. "You know I can't tell you."

"If you can't tell her surely you will tell me."

John whirled at the male voice, moving in front of Nancy. A man stood, smiling at him. A man who was a few years older than John was. A man who was holding a pistol and aiming it straight at him.

A man who wore Confederate gray.

John made to move but suddenly the room was filled with three other men. The one with the pistol neared, still smiling. "John Sheppard. You will tell me what these special orders are. Then you can be on your way."

John was silent. He kept his hands at his sides as his gaze raked over the three other men. He eyed the one with the pistol. He could feel Nancy at his back as her petticoats brushed against the back of his legs. The window was near and he might have a chance to make a dive for it and escape, but he couldn't leave Nancy to the whims of these men.

"Won't talk? I'm sure I can persuade you." He gestured and the three men advanced.

John drew his pistol but Nancy screamed, startling him. The three men were upon him and John fought, but he lost hold of his gun and found himself trying to get free of three larger, older men who were none too gentle. Nancy had backed up away from them and at least she was unharmed, for now.

John found himself beaten to his knees and held there. He looked up at the man who approached. He glared.

The man smiled at him. "Stubborn. I expected as much from a boy who would dare to court one of our Southern ladies. Oh, I should have introduced myself. I am Acastus Kolya. And you, Johnny, are going to tell me everything I want to know." He stepped back and took a seat not far from John. He acted as if he had all the time in the world. "Let's begin, shall we?"

At a nod the men converged.


	4. Chapter 4

An Eye for an Eye4

**The Barrens. February 1886.**

Moira moved in the chair. Her gaze was locked on John as he stood right in front of her, blocking her view of Acastus. She inched her foot to the knife and trapped it under her shoe. She scooted it slowly towards her, glancing to where the rifle lay on the floor out of reach.

"Is that all you gotta say?" John taunted. He was weighing the options quickly in his mind as he kept his gaze on the other man and the rifle pointed at him.

"It's been a long time, Sheppard. Allow me the courtesy of savoring the moment of having you at a disadvantage yet again."

John smiled. He felt a surge of hatred but quelled it. He needed to think, not react.

Moira reached down and clasped the knife. She quickly lifted it to her lap and hid it among the folds of her skirts, just waiting. Her fingers shook but she forcibly stilled them.

"Move. Now." Acastus gestured to the left with his rifle.

John took one step then stopped. He was still blocking Moira from view, keeping her protected behind him. "If you are gonna shoot me just shoot me, would ya?"

Acastus chuckled. "Always the impatient one, aren't you, Sheppard? And who said I was going to shoot you?" John's answering glower told Acastus all that he needed to know; that this woman meant more to him than his own life. "Oh, don't worry, I will get to you. Now move or I will cripple you first." He aimed his rifle at John's leg. John didn't move. He didn't blink. He just stood there. Acastus scowled. "Do I have to prove my point?" His finger stroked the trigger of his rifle.

"No." Moira stood, her voice startling both men. She kept the knife hidden with the folds of her skirts as she grasped them. "I'll step aside, Mr. Kolya, if that is what you want."

"No, Moira," John said tersely.

"At least she's polite. So was Nancy, if you remember. Do you remember, Johnny? Do you remember gunning her down in cold blood?"

"It was an accident," John said through gritted teeth. He could hear the motion of Moira's skirts behind him but he couldn't chance a glance in her direction.

"She died in my arms. Did you know that, Mrs. Sumner? Your gallant hero here shot a girl in cold blood. A girl he professed to love."

"It was an accident and she betrayed me."

"Betrayed you? Betrayed you?" Acastus said, voice rising with indignation. "She did what she did for the Cause! And you were fool enough to believe that my Southern belle would fall for a rogue such as you? A Yankee? You foolish, foolish boy! You were completely taken in, weren't you, Johnny, and being the bastard you are you shot her!"

"Don't call me that," John objected in a low, dangerous voice.

Moira wasn't sure what was going on but she kept a tight hold of the knife. Some old business was playing out of which she had no part, but she did have a part in the present and she intended to make certain that John wasn't harmed. She couldn't allow herself to be used as a pawn in this most dangerous confrontation. John needed to be free to act and do what he needed to do.

"Move now or I will shoot that woman through you!" Acastus threatened. He aimed the rifle.

"No! I will move! Don't shoot!"

"No! Moira, you stay right there!" John ordered, stepping with her as she tried to move around him.

"John!" she protested as he lowered his arms, keeping them away from his body to block her.

"If you don't move now I will shoot her!" Acastus warned.

"It'll be the last thing you do," John vowed. He flexed his fingers.

Three things happened at once. It all seemed to move in slow motion for John as he drew his pistol and fired but Moira knocked him sideways out of the way as Acastus fired. John fell to the floor, spinning onto his side as Moira flung herself forward and embedded the knife into Acastus, even as the bullet meant for John struck her in the side.

Acastus snarled and swung up his rifle, knocking Moira violently to the floor as blood spurted along her clothing. A gasp escaped her lips as the breath was knocked out of her. Acastus whirled and dove as John fired his pistol. The bullet just clipped the other man's arm and Acastus staggered to the doorway, yanking the knife out of his thigh.

John leapt to his feet and rushed to Moira. "Moira! Moira!" He slid his gun into his holster.

"John, no!" she cried, pulling him down. A bullet flew right where he had been and hit the wall. Wood splintered and showered them in splinters.

John swore and slid along her body, reaching for the rifle but a kick sent it spinning to the either side of the room. Acastus towered above them, rifle aimed between John's eyes.

Moira gasped.

John glowered.

Acastus smiled. He pulled the trigger.

John closed his eyes, remaining on top of Moira to protect her even now at the moment of his death. He heard Moira's gasp of anguish. He could almost feel her heart racing. There was a click.

John's eyes flew open as Acastus swore. The rifle had momentarily jammed. John did not hesitate. He leapt to his feet, growling like a carnivore and lunged violently towards the other man. They flew across the room, crashing to the floor and fought viciously.

Moira scrambled to a seated position, hand at her bleeding side. Her vision blurred and suddenly there were four men fighting, then two, then four, then two.

Abruptly the men were on their feet and headed her way, smashing the chair to pieces as they grappled and grunted. Suddenly Acastus snapped his elbow into John's throat. John staggered. Acastus whirled and limped hurriedly out of the building.

John coughed and made to follow. Instead he rushed to Moira, falling to his knees beside her. "Moy! How bad it is?"

"I'm fine! Get him, John! Get him before he gets you!" she insisted, hand at her side. "Go!" she cried, voice desperate, gaze moving from him to the open doorway of the building.

John drew back her hand to see the bullet had just grazed her, as far as he could tell before she shoved his hand away from her, defiant. He nodded, stood and exited the building. A shot made him duck and he swore. "Kolya! Is this how you want it?" John stepped out into the street to see Acastus limping down it. "Kolya! Face me like a man, damn it! You rebel coward!"

Acastus whirled and fired, but his rifle was empty. He dropped it and stood with empty hands at his sides.

John smiled. It was a feral smile. He slowly advanced with his empty hands at his sides as well.

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Ronon brought his horse up short, causing the animal to snort and rear. Snow plumed off the animals' hooves and sparkled in the crisp air.

"What is it?" Rodney asked, stopping as well. The air was cold, bitterly cold and his words spread out in the air. Snow surrounded the two men. It was deeper here in the shadows of the valley where the sunlight was weak.

"Did you hear that?"

"Hear what?"

"Gunshots."

The two men exchanged a glance. Concern crossed their faces. "Oh dear," Rodney said.

Both men put spurs to their horses and galloped through the gloomy valley.

Both hoped that they weren't too late.


	5. Chapter 5

An Eye for an Eye5

**Chattanooga. September 1863.**

"_When Johnny comes marching home again, hurrah, hurrah. When Johnny comes marching home again, hurrah, hurrah._" As Acastus taunted with the popular song the men hit John mercilessly, saving their worst punches for the word hurrah.

John was being held on his knees as the men took turns punching him. So far John hadn't said a word, even as one eye was swelling shut and blood was seeping along his lower lip. He grunted in pain and doubled over as a particularly vicious punch landed on his gut.

"Hold." Acastus had to admit this boy was tough. Either that or he was accustomed to being beaten. "Sheppard…I do admire your fortitude but please, for the lady's sake just tell me where you need to be on the morrow. Is this some secret offensive you Yankees have planned?"

John slowly lifted his head. He looked over and saw Nancy standing a few feet away, wringing her hands together and staring in shocked horror. At least they weren't taking out their anger on her, and John allowed himself a small victory at that.

"There are other ways to make you talk. A crippled man would be useless to this invasion, now wouldn't he? He'd be less than a man in the midst of war."

At the nod from Acastus the men let go of John's arms. He fell forward, failing to catch himself. He hit the crimson carpet face first and bled along the gold patterning. He turned his head to the side to see one of the men producing a long, long knife, and John could very well imagine what they had planned for him.

"Move him to the table."

Two men grabbed John under his arms and dragged him across the floor to a table. John went limp, playing possum as the third man with the knife advanced. John's heart was racing but he didn't move, didn't stir as he was dumped onto the floor and one man lifted his arm to set it on the table. He splayed John's hand open, separating the fingers from the thumb.

Nancy gasped.

"I'll give you one more chance, Johnny. Tell me where the new offensive line is or I will make you a cripple," Acastus informed, moving to stand to observe the proceedings.

John stirred and lifted his head. He turned his face to use his good eye to view Acastus. "The line? I'll tell you where it is. It's up your fucking ass!" John swung his other arm and elbowed one of the men. At the same time he used his other to knock into the other one and grab the pistol snug in its holster. He lifted and fired, firing on the man he hated most at that moment.

Except Nancy was standing in front of him. She had cried out and was either moving to pull Acastus to safety or to protest John's impeding torture but John hadn't seen until the last possible moment and he had already fired the weapon.

The bullet tore through Nancy's chest, shredding her muslin finery and causing blood to spurt all along her creamy bosom. She fell backwards, gasping and wheezing.

"NO!" Acastus cried, catching her and easing her down to the floor. "Nancy! Nancy, dahling, can you hear me?"

"John…" she whispered, but her blue eyes focused on the man holding her. "Acastus…I…I'm sorry…I couldn't let him hurt you…oh my love, I tried, I tried…"

"You did good, dahling. You did the Cause proud," he assured.

John stared, frozen first by the shock of having just shot a woman, and then by the fact that this woman had been deceiving him all along, playing him like a fiddle to get information. He lurched to his feet as Acastus lifted his gaze to Nancy's killer. Grief was dissolving into rage, pure rage.

John knew he was a dead man. He whirled and lunged towards the window. He leapt through it. Glass crashed all around him, cutting him. He flew through the air and crashed into the bushes two floors beneath him.

"Get him! Bring him to me! I want him alive! Get him!" Acastus howled, still cradling the now lifeless form of his sweetheart in his arms. At least she had died with his name on her lips and not John's.

John groaned as pain and disorientation assaulted him. The world was swirling under his shoes and around him. Nevertheless he stumbled to his feet and ran.

John ran. John ran for his life, hearing the crashing pursuit of angry men behind him. He ran along the alleys as his dark clothes concealed him in the night. He ran, skidding over cobblestones and startling people as he darted across their yards and through their businesses.

"Sheppard! Sheppard! I swear to God you will pay for this!"

John felt a shiver at the shouted words filled with hatred. He hated himself at that moment, for what he had done and his own gullibility. He spit blood as he ran. He nearly tripped and fell into the river but sidestepped and raced along a bridge, heading for safety, heading for the Union forces that were occupying the main city.

He felt sick, both physically and emotionally, but the will to live was stronger. The will to survive superseded all other concerns. John was a survivor. He had survived worse than this.

He would survive this war as well and make amends for what he had done, somehow.

He would go out West and lose himself in the vast open spaces and unconquered mountains. He would remake himself as so many men did out there, and become a better man than he was now. He vowed that he would never allow another woman to come to harm if he could prevent it, by any means.

And he would never trust one again, not until he was entirely sure of her loyalty.

John raced for his life, but he would never escape the guilt.

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"He's gone." The man swallowed nervously as Acastus met his gaze. Nancy had been taken to her bedroom and was laid out like a bride upon the bed. Women were tending the dead body to make it presentable. Blood was wiped from her skin and her bloody dress had been replaced by a pure white one. Her ringlets were combed and adorned with flowers. Her blue eyes were closed at last. Her hands were folded demurely upon her chest.

Acastus stood outside the room, hands clasped behind his back. Already Nancy's sisters were keening the loss, mourning in ululations of weeping and sobbing that rode the warm night air like ghostly visitations. Lamplight flickered and threw grotesque shadows upon the walls. The noises of the town had fallen silent, as if in mourning as well.

Blood still stained his uniform and his hands. Nancy's blood. He had loved her, and he had used her to get information from the hapless Union soldiers who would inevitably fall in love with her. Except this time she had begun to fall for Sheppard, although she had denied it. Acastus had known all the same, and only her sacrifice to save his life had redeemed her in his eyes.

No one needed to ever know that she had almost turned to the enemy. No one.

"He eluded us and got into the enemy's territory before we could catch him, sir." The soldier swallowed again. The other man's stony countenance was unnerving, unnatural. It was as if Acastus was looking at nothing and everything at the same time.

Acastus was silent. His heart beat heavily. Grief was a shadow but hatred was stronger, so much stronger. It would guide him and serve him well through this war and afterwards. Grief would unman him if he allowed it but anger, anger would strengthen him and give him the resolve to do what needed to be done.

"Sir? We might, we might catch him on the morrow, in the battle, I mean, when we—"

"Enough!" Acastus barked, causing the man to involuntarily take a step backwards. "Mark my words Sheppard will pay for this. If not today then one day, he will. One day…he will."


	6. Chapter 6

An Eye for an Eye6

**The Barrens. September 1886.**

Sunlight streamed across the street. The gold rays illumined the dirt and the decrepit buildings to either side of the road. It sparkled on the snow gilding the battered sidewalks and glinting in the melting slush. It was cold but the wind had stilled to a harsh rasping sound.

The two men stood a few feet apart from each other. Their gazes were locked in a silent, stubborn battle of wills and daring. Hatred emanated from their cold, cold eyes. Each flexed the fingers of their right hand. It was a moment pregnant with possibility.

One of the men was going to die this day.

Tension was in every line of John's body, yet he felt an odd calm. He was finally facing the bogeyman of his past, and either way the haunting threat would end. He only had to be quicker on the draw. Moira was out of harm's way and that was all that really mattered to John. The rest was just details.

Acastus was equally tense and irate. He had had Sheppard in his grasp, only to lose the advantage because of that damn woman's interference. She still lived, which irritated him to no end. He knew he was faster than Sheppard, but less accurate and that could be the telling difference between life and death.

A breeze skittered along the road, chasing a tumbleweed between the two men. Snow sparkled as it was swept into the air. John's long black duster fluttered in the breeze.

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"This way." Ronon pointed and guided his horse into a slower trot. The men were within shouting distance of what was left of the old mining town. There were no sounds. There was no movement.

Rodney opened his mouth to protest, thought better of it and guided his horse after Ronon's. The two men forded a partially frozen stream. Ice and water crashed under the hooves of the nervous horses. Snow blanketed the ground but there were signs of a recent passage.

"Here. Slowly now."

Rodney nodded and guided his horse alongside Ronon's. The two men rode through the shadows, approaching the ghost town cautiously. Rodney bit back the temptation to call out; instead he relied on the tracker's stealth and experience in these matters.

The street was deserted, or so it appeared at first. Then two figures came into view, standing a few feet apart from each other. Ronon and Rodney set their horses into a rapid trot.

"Sheppard!" Ronon shouted as he rode into the remains of the town with Rodney. Both men halted, seeing the dire confrontation. Ronon drew his rifle and Rodney fumbled with his own handgun. Violence was imminent and both men needed to be prepared.

"Leave it be, Dex! This is my business!" John ordered harshly. As he spoke his gaze never left the steely regard of Acastus. "Rodney, see to Moira if you would. She's been injured. She's in the building behind me."

"She's, she's injured? She's…of course! Of course!" Rodney stammered, dismounting and giving both gunfighters a wide berth as he skirted round them. He lingered a moment. He had read about such things as shootouts but had never actually witnessed one. It had seemed to be the stuff of legend, of stories, but it was playing out here and now like a dime store novel.

Ronon remained on his horse, his rifle aimed just in case. He knew better than to intervene. At that same time he would not just sit there and allow his friend to be gunned down, despite their differences. His finger stroked the trigger of his weapon.

Acastus smiled.

John smiled.

They drew their guns at the same time.

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Rodney entered the building and rushed to Moira as she was trying to stand. "No no no no no no no, Moira, please don't move!" He was appalled at her appearance. Her face was bruised and cut. Her long hair was a riot of tangles. Blood was seeping from her side. He gently touched her shoulders, trying to keep her in place on the floor.

"Rodney? Rodney, help me stand, please!" Moira insisted. The pain in her side was fiery, but the fear over John's welfare was what propelled her to her feet. She felt shaky, dizzy and weak but she wouldn't let any of that stop her.

Rodney sighed and helped her to her feet. "Sorry, sorry!" he muttered as she winced with pain as his arm encircled her. "You should be resting! We should have brought Doctor Beckett with us but he was injured as well. I apologize for being so remiss!"

"I'm fine! Please, Rodney, help me out of here!" Moira insisted, trying not to moan as pain flared all over her body.

"You should remain here until we can move you properly and have a doctor take a—" Rodney objected. The sight of blood was worrisome and the scientist wondered just how badly Moira had been wounded. He felt a flare of anger seeing such abuse.

"I'm fine. We need to—" Sounds of gunshots interrupted her words. She exchanged a look with Rodney.

Both headed for the open doorway.

John stood, gun in hand, still aimed at Acastus. The two men had fired nearly simultaneously, but somehow John had sidestepped the oncoming bullet, all the while firing his gun and hitting his intended target exactly where he wanted. Acastus had merely grunted as the bullet struck his chest and tore through him. He had fallen backwards, pistol still in his hand and lay sprawled in the dirty road, mortally wounded.

Ronon was a silent sentinel on his horse, watching.

"John! John, John, John!" Moira cried, relief washing over her. She squirmed out of Rodney's supporting embrace and staggered towards the lawman. She almost tripped in her haste. Droplets of blood left a harrowing trail behind her.

John turned, sliding his gun into his holster. His grim satisfaction was replaced by concern as the schoolmarm made her perilous way to him. "Moy!" He strode to her and caught her, holding her close as she all but fell into his arms. "You shouldn't have—"

"Sheppard!"

The warning came too late. A shot was fired as Acastus somehow managed to get off another round, even as he was dying. He would have his revenge, even at the cost of his own life. He fell back onto the ground as he breathed his last. His fingers still grasped his pistol.

Moira's breath escaped her lips. The bullet slammed into her as she stood in front of John, caught in his arms. The force of the impact shoved her into him, nearly knocking him off his feet. She arched and slumped backwards. Her hold slackened on him. Her head fell back and the sky filled her vision.

John stared in shock, anguish, guilt all colliding. "Moira? Moira?"

His quiet voice was the only sound.

The only sound was his voice breaking over her name.

The only sound.


	7. Chapter 7

An Eye for an Eye7

John stood in the hallway. He was silent. His brooding gaze was locked onto the carpet and he followed the swirling lines of gold in the crimson carpet. His hat was in his hands and he turned it round and round and round. Pains and soreness assailed him, but his physical discomfort was nothing compared to the ache in his heart. He pursed his lips together, as if he could force down all the emotion threatening to surface and spill out of him.

Hearing a door open and close he turned quickly. He caught a glimpse of Moira on a bed. She was on her back, arms folded over her chest. John's heart lurched and darkness clouded his vision. He blinked back a wave of sorrow and guilt and dread, steeling himself as an older man approached, shaking his head.

"Doc?" he asked. His voice was unrecognizable and he wished that Carson was the man with him instead of this stranger.

"It's the damnedest thing, sheriff." The man was shaking his head. His white mustache fluttered to either side of his rosy face. "If not for this she would be dead right now."

"What?" The words were slow to register. John recalled the mad gallop out of the Barrens. He recalled cradling Moira in his arms as she had lost consciousness and John had been afraid it was too late, too late.

He stared in puzzlement as the doctor held up a corset. It was broken in the back, a few of the whalebone stays splintered and broken. John could see why as a bullet was lodged firmly between two of the stays, embedded in a third and trapped.

The doctor smiled at the lawman's slow comprehension. "If that bullet had swerved either way it would have hit her and more than likely killed her. As it is she's been bruised and battered but she will recover. The bullet to her side merely grazed her and she lost some blood, but a good meal and rest will put that right. Are you all right, sheriff?"

John blinked. He was still staring at the corset as the doctor's words worked their way through his anguish. The despair over having lost Moira was being replaced by relief, sheer relief and he fought the urge to clutch at the small silver cross he wore round his neck. He fought the urge to rush into that room to see her for himself. "I'm fine, doc. Thanks. She's…she's okay?"

"She will be fine but I suggest that she not travel for a few days. Are you sure you are all right? I could stitch up those scratches and—"

"No. Moira's alive and that's all that matters," John said, finally meeting the older man's gaze. He smirked, taking the corset from the doctor. "I should show her this."

"Keep it as a souvenir of incredible luck, or timing."

"Thanks, doc." John turned, watching the doctor head down the hallway. At the head of the stairs Ronon and Rodney stood waiting, trying to be supportive and out of the way at the same time. "She's fine. She'll be fine. She's alive and not too badly hurt." Saying the words brought a rush of relief and John smiled.

He looked down at the corset he was still holding and fingered the broken stays and the bullet still firmly lodged in them.

"John?"

John's smile broadened hearing the female voice. He turned to see Moira in the doorway, leaning against the frame. Her hair was loose, billowing past her shoulders. She was cleaned up and the scent of flowers wafted to him. She wore a sleeveless gown that accentuated her curves and fell to her feet. "Moira." He headed for her.

Moira stepped back and watched him enter the room. He looked weary and sore but warmth shone from his green eyes. His clothes were dusty and dirty and stained with blood but to Moira he was impossibly handsome, as always. John shut the door. "Would you care to tell me why I am in a house of ill repute?" she asked tartly, hands on her hips.

He chuckled and set the corset aside, along with his hat. "It was the closest place from the Barrens," he explained. He stepped to her, gaze raking over her. He touched her cheek gently, careful of the bruises and cuts maligning her face. "I was…I was afeared I lost ya," he quietly confessed around the sudden lump in his throat. Suddenly he couldn't meet her gaze and let his eyes wander over the bodice of her gown.

Moira caught his hand in hers. "I feared the same, John. You…" Her brown eyes filled with tears and she hugged him. Emotions overpowered words and she clung to him, needing the feel of his warmth and strength and protection.

John held her close, not too tightly although he wanted to crush her to him. He kissed her brow as she hid her face against his chest. "Moira." His fingers slid delicately round to her back and down towards her rear.

She freed herself and touched his scratched face. "John, what happened to you out there?"

John kissed her. He kept kissing her, guiding her gently towards the bed. His hands ran carefully over her. She was warm, soft and yielding to him. She was alive and his and he would keep her safe from now on. "It doesn't matter, sweetheart."

"What? Of course it matters! John, what happened out there? Did you find those other creatures? Were they really from another planet? What happened to your face?"

"Doesn't matter, sweetheart," he repeated gruffly, moving to kiss her but she stopped him, stubborn.

"It does matter, damn it! John, tell me!" she insisted, pushing at him, angry at his reticence and stubbornness.

He swept her up into his arms, off her feet and she gasped in surprise. He smiled and set her gently onto the bed, following after with such passion in his green eyes it made her stare and forget all of her questions and concerns.

John silently vowed he would keep her safe. He vowed that no harm would ever come to her again.

He would keep her.

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Rodney sagged against the wall. He had been very worried about Moira, and seeing her alive, not only alive but on her feet gave him an enormous sense of relief. He glanced at Ronon who appeared relieved as well. The two men exchanged a glance and smiled.

Happy endings were rare out here. Both men intended to savor this one.

It had been a rough ride of the Barrens and across the snow to this place. It had been a mad dash to save Moira who had been clinging to life, or so it had seemed. Rodney forgot all about this scientific discoveries. Ronon wasn't bothered by the fact that they had left Acastus dead in the street, not mourned and unburied.

Sometimes a man should just be left right where he died, not mourned but forgotten.

Rodney coughed, uncomfortable. "I…um..that is to say I suppose we should be heading downstairs now?"

"Yeah, I guess," Ronon agreed, glancing down the hall at the closed door where the private reunion was taking place. A smirk crossed his face at the thought.

Both men began to head down the stairs. The plush carpet silenced their footsteps. Both were weary and cold but glad that their ordeal was over with, at least this part. There were still things out there in the night that had to be addressed, but not right now.

Even heroes could get a respite from danger now and then.

"So…do you suppose we could get a bite to eat?"

Ronon laughed and clapped the scientist on the back, nearly knocking him down the stairs. "All that and more, fancy man! All that and more, I dare say!"

The tittering laughter of women made Ronon grin and Rodney blush.

"I, I merely require some sustenance, that is all! I mean some food, a decent meal and a bed in which to take my ease, I mean in which to sleep in and oh bother!"


	8. Chapter 8

An Eye for an Eye8

Moira was making soft, yielding sounds of surrender and arousal. The sensations were exquisite as John was slowly making his way down her naked back, kissing along the curve of her spine and carefully circling round the ugly bruise where the bullet had almost struck her. His lips were soft, so soft and moist and the scruff on his jaw was abrasive and erotic.

John grunted, sliding along, taking his time although he was impatient. He was already hard and eager, but he knew he would have to be gentle and careful. His hands slid down to grasp her rear and squeeze.

"John!" He chuckled as she elbowed him and rolled onto her back. The low sound of his laughter shivered along her skin and in the most intimate of places.

John smiled, gazing upon her as he moved over her, careful to avoid putting his weight on her side where the bullet had grazed her. "Moira." He kissed her, and proceeded to slather sloppy kisses down to her breasts as one hand slid down between her legs to part her thighs.

Moira happily moaned and ran her fingers through his disordered hair, shifting slightly to accommodate him as his intentions were all too obvious now. She slid her nails along his bare arms and he grunted. "John?" She moved and he lifted his head to see her fingering his forearm where a mark was. "What is this? It looks like an injection or—"

"Never mind, sweetheart," he said gruffly. He slid up and into her, kissing her and began the passionate momentum to culmination.

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Rodney couldn't sleep. There were too many noises in the room next to his; noises which he knew could only mean one thing, or in Ronon's case two as Rodney could distinctly hear two different girls in there. There were too many thoughts in his head over recent events and he had to get them all down and orderly.

He pulled on his clothes and descended the stairs to sit in the parlor. It was deserted at this hour and a low fire sputtered in the hearth. Rodney drew a lamp to him and lit it. He opened his knapsack and foraged for his notebook and pen, for his instruments.

He stood suddenly, needing something else to help him focus.

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Moira woke. She was entangled with John in the bed, naked limbs and bodies warm and pressing, pressing. She eased herself out from under him and sat, staring at him. John was asleep, softly snoring at last after hours of sex and she could only marvel at his sudden stamina and hunger. She ran her fingers along his bare arm, curious and concerned about the oddly jagged mark near his inner elbow. "John?" she whispered.

John snorted and shifted but did not awaken.

A sudden nausea struck her and she scrambled out of the bed and rushed to the bathroom. She hunched over a bucket and heaved, but nothing came up and she sat, worried and curious. Once the queasiness had passed she returned to pull on her dirty but serviceable clothes. She tied back her hair and stood, watching John as he slept, oblivious. She exited the room and made her way down the stairs.

A quiet muttering drew her to a table in the parlor. She smiled. Rodney was sitting there, jotting down words in a notebook and eating a pastry at the same time. Crumbs littered the page and he wiped them off to continue. "Rodney?"

He looked up, startled and stared as Moira approached. "Moira? Is something wrong?"

"No. I…I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. Being in a, an establishment such as this is not conducive to rest."

"I feel the same," he admitted with a shrug. "Oh! Excuse my manners!" He stood and pushed out a chair for her. "Please, have a seat! How are you feeling?"

She took the proffered chair and sat. "Hungry." She grabbed one of the pastries, puzzled by this odd reversal of her feelings.

Rodney smiled. "Me too." They shared a quiet laugh.

"Rodney, what happened out there? The creatures?"

"Ah. I am just writing down my observations and discoveries. John didn't tell you?"

"No…he had, um, other things in mind." She felt a blush cover her face as the passionate activity still warmed her body.

"Ah." Rodney looked away in embarrassment, grabbing another pastry. "Here." He showed her a crude drawing of the creature. "I am no artist but this will suffice. There were two of the creatures and we encountered them near the remains of their flying machine, just as I had predicted and was able to locate through my research and data pertaining to the residual aftermath of such a collision."

"Do you really think these, these creatures are from the stars?" she asked, eying the drawing.

"Not from the stars but from another planet, yes, I do. Nothing like them exists on Earth, at least not now. Unfortunately I had to destroy their space vessel in order to save our lives." He frowned at the loss of data.

"These creatures could be the origin of the legend of the vampire, and maybe even of the wendigo," she mused. "Some lost species that was once here before, judging by the fossils we found previously."

"Yes, perhaps, but much more advanced than we are at this moment."

Both looked out of the window to stare at the night sky full of stars.

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John woke. He rolled, reaching and reaching but his fingers found only empty blankets. "Moira?" He sat, staring round. He scowled, not liking the thought of her being out of his bed and out of his reach. He moved to his feet and hastily pulled on his pants and shirt. He didn't bother to button the shirt as he exited the room and stood in the hallway.

His gaze narrowed as he heard quiet laughter. He trod down the stairs. Anger seized him as he spied Moira and Rodney sitting at a table, laughing over something. John approached, silent on his bare feet. "Moira."

Moira looked over, startled by John's growling voice. Rodney nearly jumped off his seat. "John?"

"What the fuck is this?" he asked, voice low.

"John, I was just telling Moira about our encounter with the creatures and we were theorizing as to their point of origin and—"

"Moira is it now? Moira?" he asked, glaring at the scientist.

Moira stood, unsettled by the odd demeanor of the lawman. She moved to him, touching his arm. "John? Are you all right?"

"No. I am not all right. I am not all right that you left my bed to be with him."

"I woke up and couldn't get back to sleep so I left as to not disturb you," she countered, wondering at his jealousy. Her fingers ran up and down his arm. "John? Let's go back upstairs, honey, please," she said softly.

He met her gaze, blinking. "Moira. Go on. I'll be up in a sec."

"John? Please, come with me and—"

"Go on, now woman!" He lightly smacked her behind.

"John!"

He smiled. "Git up there now, Moy. I'll be along presently."

She sighed, glancing at Rodney who was watching, confusion on his face. She looked at John, stepping closer to him. "All right. Don't be too long," she advised. She brushed her lips across his and exited the parlor.

"John? I can assure you there was no impropriety," Rodney stated.

"I know. The only impropriety she is havin' is with me." John moved to the table and grabbed a pastry to quickly devour. "Why ain't you in bed?"

Rodney frowned as crumbs were once again littering his notebook. He brushed off the pages and closed it. "I couldn't sleep. I had to make notations of all that we witnessed back there."

"No. Let me clarify. Why ain't you in bed with a woman? This is a whorehouse, after all."

Rodney glared at the lawman as he towered over him, smiling. "That is none of your business, sir!"

John laughed. "Get some sleep, fancy man. We'll be on our way tomorrow to get back to town."

"And what if we run into that Ford fella, the one that Ronon described?" Rodney called after the retreating form of the lawman.

John paused at the stairs. He looked over his shoulder. "He won't lay a hand on my Moira."


	9. Chapter 9

An Eye for an Eye9

"What do you have to say for yourself, John Sheppard? Haranguing Doctor McKay in that fashion when you very well know that my heart belongs to you and only to you! Well? Answer me! At the very least you owe Rodney an apology, and yes, we are on a first name basis after all of this! Well?"

John was smiling. Moira was furious. Her hands were on her hips as she stood in just her nightdress again. Her hair was loose, swirling around her bare arms down to her waist. Her brown eyes were bright with anger. He shut the door behind him and stepped to her.

Moira stood her ground, but it was hard to maintain her anger as he faced her, smile on his handsome face. His shirt was unbuttoned, giving her a generous view of his chest and waist. His brown hair was disordered and mussed, and his eyes were full of warmth and humor. He appeared more like himself and unlike the way he had been downstairs and she wondered at it.

John ran a finger up her bare arm and touched her bruised face. He stepped closer, tilting her head up to him and kissed her lips, a long, savoring kiss that left her breathless and wanting more. Just like he knew it would. He licked his lips, letting his fingers slide down to her breasts and he tugged at the strings of the nightdress. "Is that so, sweetheart?"

"Yes, that is so. John…are you all right? I know you've been through a lot and I can only imagine what you are feeling after your dire confrontation with that Mr. Kolya but you must—"

He put a finger to her rosy lips, shushing her. "Don't be frettin' about me. I don't wanna talk about it, Moy, so jes leave it be, all right? I'm fine. Let's get some sleep. We leave early in the morning."

Moira frowned, catching his hand and keeping hold of it. "You need to talk about it, John. If not the specifics of your past then at least tell me how you are feeling now. You can trust me, John, to hold any confidences close."

"That's not what I want you to hold close," he teased, stepping closer and drawing her against him.

"John!" She hit his arm, but his sudden kiss dissolved all of her protestations for more carnal concerns.

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Moira adjusted her hair yet again, making sure all of the strands were secured into the bun at the back of her head. She smoothed down her dirty black dress, frowning at the tears and stains on the dark fabric. She straightened the sleeves and the folds of the skirt. Hearing a snort she looked up to see John watching her, trying not to laugh. He was dressed and had his long black duster in one hand. "What? What do you find so amusing, sheriff?"

"You. Tryin' to appear all prim and proper when everyone here knows exactly what we was doin' last night. And this morning."

"John! I wish you would stop talking like that," she complained. "I know you can speak proper English when you have a mind to do so."

"What I have a mind to do now is to spank that pert little bustle blue but we don't have time."

She shook her head at him. "Then let's go!"

He smiled and pulled her into his arms, kissing her. "You sure you are okay to travel?"

"Yes. Are you?"

"Yup." He smirked at her annoyance and freed her to place his hat on his head. He checked his holster and his gun, grabbed his rifle and moved to the door. He paused, turning to her. "Well? Aren't you the one in a hurry to leave this place?"

Moira hadn't moved. She was standing near the bed, staring at him. "I was just thinking."

"That can't be good. Let's go, Moy." He held out his hand.

She sighed, and moved to him, placing her hand in his. "Very well, sheriff. John," she said softly as they descended the stairs, "you know things will have to be different once we return to town. We can't be as reckless or indiscreet. Are you listening to me? We have to be careful, John, once we are back in the confines of polite society. We must…" Her voice trailed off and she looked at the walls, trying not to be embarrassed.

The room was full of women, in various states of undress. All were staring at the pair, particularly at John as he reached the bottom of the stairs with Moira beside him. Evidently the passionate intimacy of the previous night or of the morning had been overheard. Rodney and Ronon were waiting by the door, both bundled up against the cold and quietly talking, but they fell silent at the lawman's appearance.

John paused as the madam of the establishment stepped to him. Her gaze raked over him, glancing at Moira in curiosity and surprise. Appearing prim and proper now the schoolmarm hardly gave the impression of a passionate mistress. She eyed the sheriff again, a smirk on her face. John met her gaze. "I thank you for the hospitality, ma'am." He tipped his hat to her. "And thank the doctor for me."

"Of course, John." The madam had the satisfaction of seeing the schoolmarm flinch and she smiled broadly. "You know you are welcome here any time, honey." She stepped closer, giving him an eyeful of her ample bosom as she touched his arm. "Just don't bring so much baggage with you."

John's gaze narrowed and he caught Moira's hand in his. "Let's go." He led Moira towards the two men. A wave of anger filled him and he forced it aside.

"And next time bring some payin' customers, mind! And remember that you will never have to pay, John Sheppard," she called after him, her Southern accent as sweet as honey. "Not even for the extra toys." She laughed as did the other women.

John scowled and led Moira out of the building. The two men followed, trying not to chuckle at the obviously awkward situation.

Moira was silent. She could feel a blush on her face. Questions swarmed to her mind, accusations and insults but she held her tongue and stepped to Jumper. The horse neighed in greeting and she patted the animal.

John smiled and set his coat around her. The dawn was cold as the sunlight weakly shone amongst the heavy clouds. There was dampness on the air and the snow could almost be tasted. "Here."

"I don't need your help, Mr. Sheppard!" she flared, unable to help herself.

John ignored her. He lifted her and she scrambled onto the horse, flustered. He got on in front of her. Moira slid her arms around him. "Hold on tight and keep close, Moy." He watched Rodney and Ronon mount their steeds. The horses stomped on the dirty snow, as eager to leave as were the humans.

"I was hoping for a nice breakfast before we embarked on our journey," Rodney said with a sigh. "I trust that you are well, Mrs. Sumner?"

"Yes, thank you, Doctor McKay," she replied.

"We better get goin'," Ronon advised.

"Yeah. We're gonna ride hard and fast. There's a storm coming and we need to reach the town before it catches us. Comprende?"

"And what about that Ford fella?" Ronon asked.

"Yes, what about that Ford fellow?" Rodney echoed.

"What Ford fellow?" Moira asked. She scooted closer to John, needing the feel of his strong, warm body as the wind tugged at his coat that was around her.

"We'll deal with him if we come across him. Now let's ride." Without further comment John set spurs to his horse and galloped away from the whorehouse.

Exchanging a sigh Rodney and Ronon followed after him.


	10. Chapter 10

An Eye for an Eye10

"Easy, easy now." John tugged on the reins, slowing his steed. It was mid-morning. Sunlight slanted against the hills behind them, streaming ahead to light their way across the barren landscape. Snow glittered on the land and a wind whipped round the little group.

John adjusted his hat, surveying the bleak landscape ahead of them. He could feel Moira pressed up against him, her arms securely around his waist.

"What is it?" Rodney stopped his horse next to John's. "We were making excellent time."

"Something ain't right."

"What? Well, of course nothing is right! We're frozen, possibly lost and miles from any modicum of civilization! Not to mention we have a lady who's been injured and needs to be in a safe place, not out here in this Godforsaken country!" Rodney glanced at Moira. The schoolmarm was silent, staring at the distances as she sat behind John. Rodney returned his gaze to John but the lawman was still staring ahead, gaze narrowed. "Are we just going to sit there while you ruminate on what is possibly wrong or are we going to make the journey to town?"

"He's right." Ronon had joined them and was staring ahead too, adjusting the rifle at his shoulder.

There was nothing out here. The land stretched on ahead of them, a vast plain only dotted by gentle slopes and narrow depressions. The mountains were behind them, casting long shadows. There were few trees. Scrub littered the land.

Rodney swallowed. He eyed the distance but could see nothing but snow-covered ground and snowy scrub as far as the eye could see. "What is it?" he demanded. He was angry and nervous. "I don't see anything!"

"Exactly," John said.

"Yup," Ronon agreed.

"What?" Rodney sighed and shook his head. He stared round, blinking against the brightness of the snow in the sunlight.

"There's nothing."

"Well, yes! We've been traveling for miles and miles through nothing!" Rodney protested.

"There's no tracks. Look." Ronon pointed.

Rodney stared, about to make a cutting remark when the observation halted him. The snow was unbroken. It was a clean slate of white, not trodden by any animals or other travelers. The wind whisked up flakes into miniature flurries. "And what's the significance of that?"

"There oughta be some tracks. But there's nothing. Nothing at all," John explained. "It's like…like a dead area. Moy?" he asked over his shoulder.

Moira was silent, huddling against his back as the cold flapped his black coat around her. The ride had been uncomfortable, jarring her aches and injuries but she had remained silent as she cuddled up to John and wished she was home. She opened her eyes to view the white blandness around them. "What?"

John touched her hand at his waist. "Are you all right, sweetheart?" he asked quietly.

"I just want to go home," she answered softly.

John could hear the weariness and discomfort in her voice. There was an underlying sadness that puzzled him. He stroked her fingers. "We're on our way," he assured. He eyed the landscape again as she shifted behind him, cuddling up against him as if to hide. "Whaddya think?"

Ronon grunted a reply and shrugged.

"Think of what?" Rodney exclaimed. "What is the significance of this? I see no danger ahead of us! We need to get Mrs. Sumner to a doctor for proper medical care and I require a decent meal!" he fumed. "Are we going to sit here gawking at the snow or ride?"

John smiled at the scientist's rant. He met Ronon's gaze and nodded. The tracker urged his horse ahead of the group, scouting the landscape with a keen eye. "Let's ride, as Mr. McKay suggested," John lazily noted.

"That's Doctor McKay and it's about time, sheriff!" Rodney quietly swore and rode after the tracker, fuming.

John snorted. He glanced over his shoulder. For a split second he thought he saw a figure in the distance, a black shadow against the overwhelming whiteness, but when he blinked it was gone.

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"Whoa, whoa," John said, voice low as he tugged on the reins of his horse. The men paused on the edge of town, assessing. Everything looked fine. People were going about their daily business, passing to and fro across the street. Men in heavy coats and hats along with women in bustling skirts and wearied expressions filled the sidewalks. Horses snorted in the cold air.

Work had begun on the sheriff's building. Already the burnt out remains were being replaced with a new wooden wall. Beams crisscrossed and the steady sound of hammers and saws filled the air. The cacophony of men's voices rose and fell with the work.

It seemed ordinary. It seemed like just another day in the Vegas settlement. It was as if nothing remarkable had occurred when in fact something had, at least to John and the people with him. He fingered the sheriff's gold badge on his vest. It was dusty and scratched but still there.

He wondered if it would still be there once people learned what he had done. However justified it was still murder, plain and simple.

"John?" Moira shifted behind him. "I just want to go home. Please, John." Moira was fighting a wave of nausea and dizziness. The town blurred in her vision and she felt in danger of falling off the horse. She blinked fiercely to clear her sight and her head.

She would much rather be at home to take care of herself than to be subjected to an examination by the doctor, however well-meaning.

"All right, sweetheart," he soothed. He eyed his companions. "Get situated in the hotel. I'll be back soon. Make sure that Beckett is all right and have him come by Mrs. Sumner's place in—"

"No. I don't need Carson! I just need to get home," Moira insisted. Her grasp tightened around John's waist as if to prove her point. "If you won't take me I will find my own way!" She loosened her hold on him, preparing to slide off the horse but John caught her hands at his waist.

"I'll take you home, Moira, now settle! Have Beckett make a house call in one hour," John continued, ignoring her request. "If he's not up to it bring him by carriage anyway," he added with a frown. No matter how injured the doctor was Moira was faring far worse, although she tried to deny it.

"What about that Ford fella, whatever he is?" asked Ronon. He was scowling. He hated towns. He hated settlements of any kind. He preferred the outdoors and open spaces to this crowded noise of crawling humanity. Already suspicious looks were being cast his way, as always.

He would much rather be out hunting that wendigo than be bottled up in town.

"We'll deal with him soon." John still had his doubts about the tracker's story, but he knew he couldn't discount what Ronon had told him.

"And the Pinkerton?" asked Rodney, looking around nervously. He wondered if the Pinkerton was already at the scene of the crash site and no doubt removing all evidence of both the alien creatures and the extraordinary ship that had brought them here from the stars. He cursed the obliteration of all of that knowledge and discovery.

He would much rather be investigating the crash site with a proper team, or better yet be back in a properly civilized city with modern amenities.

"Him too. Jes stay clear of him." John touched his spurs to his horse and rode through town.


	11. Chapter 11

An Eye for an Eye11

Moira was sick. She was retching violently, hunched over a bucket in the bathroom of her house. She had barely made it into the building and into the room before the nausea overtook her and would not be denied. Luckily she hadn't eaten much but still it was a disgusting and exhausting experience.

Shakily she shoved the bucket aside and moved to her feet. She washed her face, closing her eyes and letting the burning tears flow. She rinsed out her mouth and tried to shore up the rest of her emotions. She was sore, so sore and tired and everything was piling on top of her at once, threatening to bury her unless she could gain some modicum of control.

Worst of all was the man waiting for her outside the door.

She knew he was there. She had seen his concern, his worry as she had shoved free of him and ran to the bathroom. She knew he was still out there, waiting, worrying and she knew he wouldn't leave until he was certain she was all right. She almost resented his intrusion, his concern, but realized it was just an irrational reaction.

She wiped her face again, careful of the cuts and bruises marring her skin. She stemmed the tears that glittered in her brown eyes. She bit back the emotion and the churning of her stomach. Aches assaulted her, but the pain was nothing compared to the emotional whirlwind. She smoothed down her rumpled, dirty clothes, trying to restore a semblance of civility to her appearance. She calmed and opened the door.

John moved to his feet. He was holding his hat and had been turning it round and round and round as he waited, worrying the brim so that it had begun to fray. He anxiously eyed her. She appeared tired and in pain and in distress and his heart lurched to see her like that. "Moy? Moy, are you all right now?"

"Fine. Just…I need to rest." She moved to the bed and sat, folding her hands demurely in her lap as she eyed the familiar carpet under her feet. The comfort of home was somewhat soothing. Familiar objects and familiar surroundings cocooned her in a semblance of normalcy. She eyed the bandages around her wrists, hiding the worn flesh where the rope had bit into her.

"Moira?" John stepped to her. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what to say. He didn't know if he should sit next to her. He didn't know if he should pull her into a hug. He opted for standing in front of her. "Sweetheart, please tell me what's wrong. I am sorry, I am so sorry you were dragged into all of this."

"It wasn't your fault, John," she soothed.

"It was. Because of me. This happened because of me. You…I…Moira…"

"Just go."

"Excuse me?"

"Just go, John. I am fine now but so tired and sore. I just want to sleep, all right? You need to return to town and sort whatever business is left, don't you? I will be fine here. I just want to sleep. That's all I want."

John considered. She wouldn't look at him. Her voice was soft, resigned. He knew she was holding something back from him, and he wondered what it was. She had seemed fine the other night and he wondered what had changed. "Moy? Whatever… I mean, whatever happened out there, to you…I mean…you…um…"

"No, John, nothing like that," she assured, guessing the topic he was hedging around but unable to say. "Just go," she repeated. She couldn't face him now. She had to face herself first before she could tell him anything.

"I…okay," he relented. "I'll be back with some supper, all right? You'll feel better after you git some proper sleep, and please let Carson take a look at you. Moira? Moira…"

Finally she met his gaze, steeling herself. "Just go, John."

John stepped closer. He gently, so gently touched her face. His fingers were a whisper of a caress across her pale skin, around the cuts and bruises. He leaned down and brushed his lips across her cheek. His stubble scratched, evoking erotic memories and promises. "I love you, Moira. Nothing will ever change that." His green eyes were solemn. His voice was low, serious and thick with emotion.

She was silent, eyes filling with tears. Her gaze was locked onto the battered gold badge on his vest as she withdrew her gaze from his.

He stared at her. He could feel every beat of his heart in the heavy, heavy silence. He straightened and slowly walked out of the house.

Moira listened to the sound of his receding footsteps.

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"Sheriff! Sheriff! Sheriff Sheppard!"

John ignored the summons. He strode into the saloon, nearly knocking the swinging doors off their hinges. He stomped to the bar and slammed down his fist, rattling glasses. Instantly the barkeep hastened to him and shoved a bottle of whiskey towards the lawman.

Neglecting a glass John opened the bottle and guzzled the alcohol. It burned its way down his throat to his stomach. He set the bottle down, licking his lips and moodily glanced round the saloon. All conversations had ceased. Even the piano had fallen silent, quelled by the lawman's bad mood.

Even the whores had stopped plying their wares and were staring at him, silent.

John glanced round but did not see the tracker, and he wondered if Ronon had set out on his own to look for that Ford fella or wendigo or whatever the hell it was. He knew he would have to go after his friend, but not just now. Not just now.

"John! How does Mrs. Sumner fare?" Only the scientist was either brave enough or foolhardy enough to approach the glowering sheriff as quiet conversations resumed. Rodney motioned and a glass was set in front of him, along with a bottle of sarsaparilla.

John grunted and drank some more. "I have no fucking idea," he muttered.

Rodney stared, startled by the answer and the sheriff's foul mood. He decided the wiser course of action was to change topics. "I've been going over the data we collected about the creatures and their ship and I have been comparing our notes with those of Doctor Beckett and I must say our initial findings are quite remarkable! The properties are very similar to human, yet there are telling differences as well you know. I have been comparing the readings from their ship to the meteor rocks and there is a significant difference in the amount of—"

"Don't care." John downed more whiskey. He sighed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Of course you care! This is unprecedented! The things we saw, the things we discovered, those creatures," he lowered his voice. "Unfortunately it will be swept under the rug, just like the last time." He sighed.

"Where's Beckett?"

"He's on his way to visit Mrs. Sumner, as you requested. Is there something wrong?"

"Hell if I know. Women," he complained sourly.

"Yes, they are a mystery," Rodney agreed. He sipped some of his drink, shrugging. "I do hope that Mrs. Sumner will sufficiently recover. I do enjoy conversing with her, and I would find her ideas about our recent encounters to be most interesting. This all ties together somehow, Mr. Sheppard, and I think we can piece it together if we collate our findings. Once she has recovered, of course, from her terrible ordeal. I mean I wouldn't presume to rush her or anything. She must recover first, by all means!" He drank more, swallowing nervously as he looked at John.

John eyed the scientist a moment and abruptly left the bar.

Rodney stared after him, baffled. "Men," he muttered sourly, and relaxed to enjoy his sarsaparilla and a handful of cookies.

He scarcely noted the arrival of a younger man with dark skin and tattered clothes.


	12. Chapter 12

An Eye for an Eye12

John entered the medical office. It was empty. He stepped round to the back and paused. A series of syringes were lined up on a silver tray. Yellow liquid gleamed in them. John felt an itching along his arm, along the injection site. He licked his lips and stepped to the tray. He seized one of the syringes, eying the contents. Hearing a noise he quickly slid it into the pocket of his black duster and turned.

Carson Beckett was just entering the building. He looked tired. He was still bruised from his encounter with Kolya. He removed his coat and limped to the desk. He looked over suddenly and stared. "John?"

"How are ya, doc? You went to see Moira?"

"Aye, that I did. Or rather I tried." The doctor took a seat, groaning as he adjusted his injured leg. He fingered the bandage encircling one arm.

"What?"

"I tried to see her and she was very polite but refused me entrance. And I wasn't about to barge in, now was I? She appeared fine, John, just tired so I let her get back to bed. Poor lass has been through enough, hasn't she? Her cuts are bandaged and she assured me she just needed rest. I will call upon her tomorrow."

"Something ain't right, doc. Something ain't right with her."

"I suggest you let it be, John, for now. If there was something seriously wrong Moira would seek my aid. She is not foolish. How are you feeling?" His blue gaze assessed the lawman.

John shifted his stance as the weight of the syringe felt heavy. "Fine. I'm fine. Lorne?"

Carson moved to his feet. His expression told John everything.

"Damn," John muttered.

"Sorry, John. I tried everything. The injections helped some, but they couldn't reverse what had been done to him. He, he passed away while you were gone rescuing Moira. He's still in the back. We haven't had time to bury him and the ground is still frozen. I need to move him to the storage until the ground is workable."

John nodded. He followed the doctor to the very back of the building which doubled as the morgue. A body was prone on a table, covered by a sheet. John steeled himself and nodded again. Carson pulled back the sheet to reveal the aged face of Evan Lorne. The man was only in his thirties but had been drained of fluids and years and now appeared to be in his seventies.

Carson covered the deputy and sighed. "I'm so sorry. There was nothing I could do."

"You did your best, doc," John soothed. He followed the doctor back to the main office.

"That's just it, John! I did all that I could and it still wasn't enough! I know the answer to be found in that enzyme! There must be a way to reverse the process but I canna find a way to do it with just injections! I fear it must be delivered from the source!" The doctor's Scottish accent became more pronounced as he became agitated.

"You mean from the creature?" John asked, scratching at his arm.

"Yes. I believe so. There must be some sort of process that we don't understand, that involves the creature as well as the enzyme. The enzyme on its own is powerful enough, and I believe it could even become addictive, in time, like any stimulant. However I believe the withdrawal would be much worse. The chemicals are insidious and as it must be taken intravenously the side effects are both more powerful and more dangerous. Even so they weren't enough to save poor Evan. There is a component from the creature that I have yet to discover. John?" Carson wondered if his ramblings had bored the sheriff as the other man was staring into space, scratching absently at his arm.

John started, blinking. "Yeah. Um…yeah. We can bury him as soon as the thaw sets in."

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Moira stirred. She was curled on her bed, under a heavy woolen blanket and was clutching one of John's flannel shirts as she hid from the world. She opened her eyes and stared across the room. Gray shadows were lining the walls and she wondered how much time had passed. She sat suddenly. A gasp escaped her lips seeing a tall form standing in the doorway, watching her. The form resolved itself into a familiar figure as he entered the room.

John approached the bed cautiously. He had been watching Moira as she slept. She appeared so small, so vulnerable under the blanket, clutching one of his shirts like a talisman. She stared at him. Her hair was loose, falling about her in glorious brown waves. She wore a soft pale blue chemise and darker blue skirt. Cuts and bruises marred her rosy face. Her lips parted but no sound issued from them.

John took a step closer. He took another step. He was clean-shaven and had on a slightly less-rumpled dark green shirt. It was haphazardly tucked into his dark brown slacks. He had removed his gun belt. His hair was marginally in order and his hat was absent. "Moy? I got supper for us if you're wanting it now. Stew and dumplings and some honeyed biscuits. And those little petit fours you like? The chocolate ones with the cream?"

A soft smile crossed her lips. He was making such an effort for her and his awkwardness was charming. He smiled in return. She grew somber. "John? John…I…I'm sorry. I have something to tell you."

John stepped to the bed and sat upon it. He took her hand into his, gently caressing her fingers. "You can tell me anything, Moira. Anything at all."

"Um, maybe we should eat first? It would be a shame to allow all of that good food to get cold," she suggested, suddenly nervous.

"I'd rather hear what you got to tell me first," he countered.

She looked at their hands, at their fingers entwining. "I'm sorry, John. I was careful, I mean I thought I was being careful and all, you know…and as it never happened I just assumed it wouldn't with you since it didn't with him, but I should have known you would be more, um, more, um…anyway, I was careful, or thought I was being careful and, and then I came close to, to losing it during the ordeal because I didn't know at the time but it's still there and I don't know, I don't know what to do, John! I really don't know what to do because this just won't be, be right, or acceptable…I'm sorry, John, I'm sorry!"

John stared as tears filled her brown eyes. "Whoa, whoa, sweetheart. What are you talking about? I don't understand a word you're saying. What is it? What are you trying to tell me?"

Moira bit her lower lip and then met his gaze shyly, tearfully. "Um, John? I…I am with child. I am with your child. I am going to have your, your child, John. John?"

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Ronon hefted his rifle and stared at the town. It was quiet, except for the sounds issuing from the saloon; drunken laughter, loud voices and the tinny sound of a piano. Gaslights were strung along the sidewalk, swaying in the wind and shedding sporadic pools of light. Hearing a noise he whirled, gun raised, but he lowered it with a smirk.

Rodney almost dropped the bag he was carrying. He glared. "Is that any way to greet someone?"

"Out here it is."

"I suppose. Where are you heading?"

"Out there."

"Well, that's specific." At the tracker's scowl the scientist continued, oblivious. "You aren't thinking of going after that Ford fellow, are you? Clearly this man is just a man, but a homicidal man who is delusional and dangerous. If he killed his fellow travelers he is a menace but an unpredictable one, given his aptitude to, um, to…"

"To eat his victims?" Ronon helpfully supplied. "That's why he needs to be put down. And he ain't no man."

"You're suggesting he's a…a wendigo?"

"I don't know what he is. I only know I gotta find him. He was ahead of us."

"Ahead of us? You mean…" Rodney stared round.

"Yep. He's probably already here."

"Don't be preposterous! How could he possibly outdistance us that quickly? I mean it's not like he's a superhuman or alien or…"

"What? What is it?" Ronon asked.

Rodney's eyes widened and he met Ronon's gaze. "There was a, a stranger in the saloon. He appeared somewhat like the man you described, but that is impossible right? Right? Ronon?"


	13. Chapter 13

An Eye for an Eye13

"John?" Moira's voice was soft, tremulous as emotions and uncertainty seized her. John was staring at her, surprise on his handsome face and Moira feared the very worst reaction. Instead a slow smile curved his full, perfect lips and warmth filled his beautiful green eyes. He drew her into his arms, into a hug as he kissed her brow.

"Moira. My Moira," he said quietly. "It will be all right, I promise you, sweetheart. I will take care of you. We'll get married and you will lack for nothing and—"

"No!" Moira shoved free of his embrace, glaring at him. "I won't marry you, John! We can't just get married because I am with child now! We can't—"

"We can, Moy. I was gonna ask you anyway, even before you told me about the baby." His gaze moved down to her waist then up to her eyes.

"You, you were?" she asked, not quite believing him. Tears sparkled in her brown eyes.

"Yes," he confirmed. He leaned close and kissed her lips. "I love you, Moy. And now I love you even more, both of you, and I will move heaven and earth to keep both of you safe and mine."

"I…okay," she relented, assuaged by his determination and love. "You…you are all right with this?"

"What? Of course I am! You are going to have my child, Moira!" He smiled broadly and drew her into his arms again. "And you are sure you are all right? I mean physically."

"Yes…I am. I…"

He gently freed her and kissed her again. "Moira." He ran his fingers along her bruised face. "If, if anything had happened to you…to either of you…" His gaze dropped to her abdomen again and a fierce protectiveness filled his eyes.

Moira caught his hand, kissing it. "I'm fine, John. We're fine. We…I…I can't quite get used to that."

He smiled, meeting her gaze. "You will, as will I. Wow…a little me is on the way."

She laughed softly. "Oh John!" She hugged him, but drew back, frowning. "What will people say? I mean…I mean…"

"They'll say we're sleeping together, that's what they'll say."

"John!" She hit his arm. "You know what I mean!"

"Doesn't matter. We'll get hitched mighty soon, before that bun in the oven is visible."

"John!"

"It will be all right, Moira. As long as we are together it will be all right, ya hear? Don't go fretting over the townsfolk and all."

"But they—"

"Don't care. They can't touch us, Moy, especially when we get hitched. The—"

A violent knocking interrupted John's assurances. Moira gasped in alarm. John jumped to his feet. "Sheriff! Sheriff Sheppard! You best come to town now! Sheriff!"

"Shit, er, shoot. Stay right here, Moy." John strode out of the bedroom. He reached the front door as the knocking had resumed. He opened the door, glaring. "What?" he snarled.

A teenage boy stood, so nervous he was shaking in his boots. His eyes widened seeing the older man's ire. "There's been a murder! In the saloon! Doc Beckett sent me here to fetch ya!"

"What murder? Who?" John asked.

"Some new fella! They're gonna lynch the guy who done it if you don't come quick!"

"What guy?"

"That tracker fella! Come quick, sheriff!"

"Fuck," John muttered. "Get back to town. I'm on my way! Damn it!"

"John?"

John turned. Moira was standing in the doorway to the parlor, appearing deliciously unkempt. He stepped to her, touched her arm. "I don't know what has happened but I—"

"Go. I'll be fine. I will wrap up your dinner after I eat mine."

"All right. Thanks, Moy." He kissed her. "You sure you're okay?"

"Yes, I am now. Go on, John. Go save your friend. I love you."

He smiled. "I love you too, and little Johnny junior. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Moira frowned, touching her abdomen. "Johnny junior?" she repeated in amusement.

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John fired his rifle. The shot was loud and the angry mob froze in their march from the bar. "What the hell is going on here?" he bellowed.

"John, John, thank God!" Rodney rushed to the sheriff. "I tried to reason with them but they won't listen to me! Since I am not from these parts they are dubious of my opinions and any scientific evidence I could provide!"

"Ya think?" Rodney was sporting a black eye. John glowered and stepped to the crowd. They parted, sullen but defiant. In their midst stood Ronon. The man was furious, bloody but not cowed, not at all. He had been stripped of his weapons. "What the hell is going on here?" John repeated.

"We're doin' your job, sheriff, that's what's goin' on here! He kilt a man!" The townsman pointed a finger at Ronon.

"It wasn't a man!" Ronon retorted.

"You mean that Ford fella is here?" John asked, quickly assessing the situation. Rodney was frantically nodding.

"Was here," Ronon corrected.

"Where is he now?" John asked, inwardly sighing.

"Doc Beckett's got him on the table, but it's a clear case of cold-blooded murder!" The crowd's voice rose in agreement.

"What happened, exactly? No!" John forestalled the man. He looked round and spotted Elizabeth. "Lizzie?"

Elizabeth smiled at him, but grew somber. "It was very quick, sheriff. This man was jes havin' a drink at the bar and he was kinda loud, but they all are. Then walks in that fella and jes shoots him."

"It wasn't quite like that!" Rodney objected, casting a scurrilous gaze at the prostitute. "That man was having a drink and becoming quite boisterous, talking about his missing companions and all. Mr. Dex recognized him and tried to escort him out of the saloon but there was an altercation and—"

"He done shot him dead!" a voice shouted. The crowd grew angry and Ronon glared back at them, defiant.

"And I'd do it again 'cause he ain't human!"

"Shut up, Dex!" John ordered. "Leave him!" John stepped to his friend. "I'm taking him into custody until we get to the bottom of this! Let's go." John took his arm and led him away from the crowd.

"There's no mystery, Sheppard! He done shot him dead, in cold blood!"

"He's spouting nonsense about wendigos and cannibals and other—"

"Sheriff, he kilt a man!"

"Sheriff, he admitted it and we saw him do it!"

John ignored the voices clamoring at him. He led his friend to the sheriff's office, angry. One moment he was finding out that his sweetheart was carrying his child; the next he had to head off an angry mob intent on hanging his friend for murder. "You shot this fella?"

"Yep. He's not human! I swear to you he's not!" Ronon insisted, entering the cell. He watched John lock the door. "Do what you must, but I just saved this damn town!"

John shook his head and exited the building.

He only hoped he could save his friend.


	14. Chapter 14

An Eye for an Eye14

Carson Beckett sighed and uncovered the body. The young man's face was calm, at peace. His dark skin was coated with the sheen of perspiration still. Blood was congealing on his chest where he had been shot. The crimson globes coated his tattered clothing.

John grunted. He nodded and Carson covered the body. "You heard what happened over there?"

"Apart from this poor lad being shot by that wild man, no. However…you need to see this." Carson stepped to a table where a silver tray gleamed. Various items were on it; the few meager possessions of the dead man on the slab behind him.

John followed the doctor and eyed the debris. He stared. "Is that…a…"

"Human forefinger, yes, or rather the phalanges of one. All three are present, and those…are teeth marks, if I am not mistaken."

"Teeth marks," John murmured, leaning closer to see. He recalled Ronon's story of how Ford had almost boasted of devouring his companions, ostensibly to survive.

"Whether or not that substantiates Mr. Dex's claim I cannot say. Nor does it justify murder. And then there's this. I took a sample of the blood for analysis and I found remnants of the enzyme in his red cells. The same enzyme that I found in the creatures."

"What? How can that be?" John asked.

Carson shrugged. "I don't know, unless he was feeding on them as well?"

"He was following us. Tracking after us so he must have seen the destruction of the ship and those creatures and fed…" John's mind was working furiously as he frowned. He absently scratched at his arm. "That would explain his speed and how he got back here before we did, and how he was able to get the better of Ronon."

"I suppose it would. How do you know this, exactly?" Carson asked, suspicious. His blue eyes narrowed. "I am missing a pair of syringes that were full of the enzyme I was using to try to treat Deputy Lorne. Sheriff?"

John's mind was somewhere else as he thought and thought. He rubbed at his brow. "That would mean he was—" John whirled, drawing his gun with alacrity. Carson gasped and turned as the formerly dead man was leaping off the table, grinning like a ghoul at the two men.

John fired but Ford was fast. He was superfast as he shot past the two men, knocking both of them to either side and rushing out of the medical office. John leapt to his feet, glancing to see the doctor doing the same, unharmed. John ran out of the building, stopped and aimed.

He aimed at the fleeing figure and fired. People screamed in horror to see the dead man running and the sheriff firing his weapon to no avail. John swore and ran after the fleeing man.

Suddenly a burst of green laser fire shot through the air and felled Ford. The man dropped to the ground, twitching uncontrollably.

John reached him and stared as Rodney neared, aiming a strange-looking gun at the formerly dead man. "What the fuck?" he muttered.

Rodney met his gaze, smiling and cocky. He tried to twirl the gun on his finger but it slid and he nearly dropped it. Rodney scowled at John's amusement, but regained his pride as he glanced at Ford. "Just a little something I requisitioned from the creatures and their ship. Looks like it came in handy too. And no, it didn't kill him, just rendered him unconscious."

"I ain't sure what'll kill him." John stared at the prone man. "At least this gits Ronon off the hook. You can't hang a fella for killin' a fella when he ain't dead."

"Exactly…although I would have worded it better," Rodney noted with a shake of his head.

John scowled, but he circled the body, looking for any sign of life. Ford appeared quite dead again, or at least unconscious. "The question is what do we do with him now?"

"I'll take custody of him, sheriff."

John and Rodney watched as the Pinkerton Richard Woolsey approached with a group of men. All bore guns and stern expressions. "Is that so?"

"Yes. This man is a suspect in a series of homicides across several territories, including yours. The crimes are quite heinous and involve cannibalism and the destruction of government property," Richard explained.

"What government property?" Rodney asked, clearly skeptical.

"The ship," John realized. "That ship and those creatures…you are taking it all for the government."

Richard eyed John. "You are correct, Sheriff Sheppard. And all of that is now classified under the strictest of protocols and under the command of General O'Neill. If you would allow me to transport the suspect now? And this." Richard snatched the stun gun from Rodney.

"Hey! That was mine! You just can't take a man's property and—"

"This belongs to the US government and it is a federal offense if you are in possession of it. And need I remind you, Mr. McKay, that you are not a US citizen but a citizen of Canada and only in our great land because of the freedoms we fought and died for?"

"It's Doctor McKay and go ahead, take that Ford fella away, but be warned. He's on the enzyme."

Richard blinked, looking at John again as did Rodney. "Excuse me? You know about the—"

"I know several things, Mr. Woolsey, and yes, I shall respect the orders of General O'Neill. But I will also do what I must to ensure the safety of this town and its denizens. If you'll excuse me I need to release an innocent man. Rodney."

Rodney shrugged and walked with John back towards the prison. "What was all that about? You're just going to let Woolsey and his thugs take everything again, just like the last time? They will bury the evidence so deeply it will be years before any serious scientific examinations can commence, and I will be denied all access, no doubt due to my brilliant mind and my Canadian citizenship! Why I should write a strongly worded letter to your Congress to protest the small-mindedness of your bureaucratic—"

"You go right ahead and do that, McKay, and then you'll be deported." John entered the sheriff's office. He unlocked the cell. "You're free to go. That Ford fella's still alive, so you haven't committed a crime."

"He's alive?" Ronon asked, stepping out of the cell, shocked. He took the rifle John handed him.

"Yes, and being taken outta town by the government, so don't be going after them. He's their problem now, whatever he is."

"Then you believe me?"

"Maybe," John admitted, shrugging. "It ain't every day a dead man gets off the slab and runs across town."

"It ain't every day I get to shoot him down with a futuristic weapon," Rodney added with a grin.

"It ain't every day I get let outta prison so quickly," Ronon added. The three men laughed.

"And what's all this merriment about?" Carson eyed the three men as they turned to him, smiles on their faces. "Doctor McKay, Mr. Dex, if you wouldn't mind I need a private word with the sheriff here."

The men exchanged glances. "We'll be in the hotel bar," Rodney decided.

John nodded and watched them go. He eyed the doctor and his assessing regard. "What is it, doc? I bet you are full of questions about that seemingly dead man. I don't have the answers, and nor will you now that he's being carted off by the government. Well? The town is safe. Moira is safe and under my care now."

"And what about yourself, John? I know that it was you who took that enzyme."

John's smile faltered. "I…I needed the edge, doc. To save Moira. To save the town. I…I won't take no more."

"No, you won't, because Woolsey confiscated all that I had. You are going to be in for a few days of hell, John, when that withdrawal hits. Just be warned. Is there anything else you care to tell me, or to ask me?" Carson folded his arms across his chest, waiting.

John considered. His handsome face broke into a smile. "Yeah, there is. Doc, can you perform a marriage ceremony?"


End file.
